Saturday, 27 February 2010

After everything that's happened over the past couple of weeks I need a bit of cheering up.

When Craig suggested coming over to see me in Leeds for the weekend at first I was dubious. But then I thought - why not?

True, he seemed a bit funny over the text after my Grandma's funeral but since then he's been back to his normal, flirty and fun self.

And plus, I always find that going out for a few glasses of wine is a great prelude to a night of fantastically distracting sex.

We'd arranged for him to turn up in the early afternoon, but so far he hasn’t arrived. I wasn't sure if this meant he'd blown me out, or if he’d been delayed or something, so I decided to send him a message to find out what the hell was going on. You know, subtly, without sounding like I'm sitting on my sofa waiting for him to grace me with his presence.

Like I am.

Hi, hope you’re OK. What time do you reckon you’ll get to mine, as I might need to pop out and want to make sure that I’ll be in when you arrive? x

Craig might be many things, but he is good at sending instant replies to messages.

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later:

I’m just at my m8s at the mo’. Still on 4 bein round at urs 4 about 5. Lookin 4ward to tonite! x

Oh. So he’s only getting here at 5pm. And his grammar still sucks.

I feel like such a knob. I’ve been leaping off my sofa every five minutes for the past two hours when I’ve heard a car outside.

I thought we arranged for him to come over just after lunch?

Maybe it’s my mistake...

Oh hang on. I think I know what's going on here.

Craig's parents are back from their villa in Spain.

Craig is looking for an action replay in the bedroom department.

Craig isn't arsed about seeing me this afternoon. He's just interested in shagging me this evening.

Ah. It's amazing how far a bloke will travel for sex.

What's the furthest distance you've ever travelled for sex?

I've driven hundreds of miles to see boyfriends before, but just for sex? That's probably only about two miles.

OK, so it wasn't exactly a journey of epic proportions but the trip really was worth every inch. :-)

I'll have to tell you about him someday. He was fantastic.

But back to Craig...

I guess I'll just have to see what happens on our second "date" tonight.

Thursday, 25 February 2010

It is a bright and crisp late winter’s day. The sky is cobalt blue and there are no clouds in sight. It is the kind of day that my Grandma loved, which seems very appropriate as it is the day of her funeral.

Despite the chill in the air I feel the glow of inner warmth. Arriving at the church in the funeral procession I see all the faces of everyone who has come to bid my Grandma a fond farewell. My Grandma was loved by more people than I realised. St. George’s church is very large, and it is almost full which means a lot to my Mum.

My Mum, Dad, brother, uncle and I sit in the front pew of the church as my Grandma’s tiny coffin is carried up the aisle and placed in front of the altar. It is a short, quite emotional service with a few hymns and a few words from the vicar. My Mum had written a lovely eulogy and my poor Dad had been psyching himself up to read it in front of everyone, but the vicar just ploughs on and reads it regardless.

Everyone is OK and I don’t think anyone cries, but my eyes do well up when I see just how small her coffin is and as I realise that my Grandma is inside. As we leave the church after the ceremony, I glance across the churchyard and see the first yellow bursts of daffodils praising the pale winter sun.

Regardless of everything, life is still flourishing around us.

During the course of the day, my brother does an excellent job of keeping my spirits up.

In the church he laughs at me when I kneel down and miss the prayer cushion and yelp as my knee whacks the floor. He also produces an absolute classic as we approach the crematorium in the funeral cortege.

The crematorium is at the end of a long, sweeping driveway set in beautifully landscaped grounds. The entrance for the funeral party is covered by a glass tunnel. On sight of this my brother elbows me in the ribs and whispers:

“Is it going to be a drive-thru cremation?”

Oh yes, my brother is quite the comedian.

I can’t help but laugh. My Mum overhears his comment too and has to stifle a giggle as she is sat next to the funeral director.

It might be a day of sadness but it feels right to have as smile, as my Grandma always used to look on the brighter side.

We all get out of the car and made our way inside. The crematorium is a new building, and I am surprised as it is very bright and airy.

The service itself doesn’t last long, and I have to stifle my giggles again as my Mum tells me a story she heard about another cremation. Apparently, when the funeral director at this other ceremony pressed the button to send the coffin on its way, it decided to pop back up again. Up and down, up and down, up and down it went, like a morbid jack in the box.

Fortunately this doesn't happen and everything goes without a hitch.

After the service we head off to the Sea View pub for the wake. My Mum chose this pub as my Grandma once commented that they put on a good spread after she attended someone else’s wake there.

By now it was about 5pm and I still hadn’t received a text message from Craig all day. I know that this is by no means the most important thing, but it did bother me a bit as it would be nice to know that he is thinking about me. Maybe he doesn’t even remember that it is the funeral, although I’m sure he would as I told him the other day? It’s just common courtesy to ask me how I am, isn’t it?

In between last Sunday morning and today we have still been sending each other text messages but they haven’t been as frequent as before the night I stayed over at his house. I’m not sure if I should read too much into this, as I’ve been preoccupied with other things and he has been very busy looking after the business, but I do wonder if he’s losing interest after our night together.

Not that I'm bothered of course. Craig is only a bit of fun.

As the wake is drawing to a close I sneak off into a quiet corner and send him a message.

Hi, how are you? You still working hard? The funeral was really lovely today – well as lovely as a funeral can be I think. Hope everything is OK with you. x

I’m lucky in that I’ve never been to a funeral before, but I think I would class this as one of the better ones, as no one was really upset and we all celebrated my Grandma’s life.

I receive a reply from Craig a few hours later, and if I’m honest his reply leaves me cold.

Glad today went OK. Work was well borin. Just off to the pub x

I read his text message over and over again.

I can’t work out if he is bothered about what is happening to me but just doesn’t know how to express it (which would explain why he didn’t get in touch during the day), or if he has completely forgotten about the funeral and isn’t arsed about me whatsoever.

I know I am reading way too much into the whole me and Craig thing again, as surely I should only expect a sensitive and caring response like that from someone I am seeing a bit more seriously?

No, actually I don’t think that’s true. I think it’s just nice manners to ask, especially as we have been arranging for him to come and see me in Leeds this weekend.

What is it that stops me from just living in the moment even now when I’ve set myself the task of having no strings fun? I’m hoping it’s just because I’m feeling a little more emotional than usual due to my Grandma’s death and not because I feel the need to cling on to every man I bump into.

The rest of the day passes in a blur and before I know it I'm back home.

“No love, no it’s not,” my Dad replies sombrely. “It’s your Grandma,” he continues. “Sadly she died this morning at about 7am.”

Oh no. Oh no that can’t be right.

“Oh Dad!” I exclaim. “Oh no, it can’t be. The doctors said the treatment was working.”

I don’t know what to do with myself and I sit up in shock as I listen to what he has to say.

“She passed away very peacefully,” my Dad continues. “Me and your Mum were with her in her last few moments.”

Tears prick the corner of my eyes before one splashes down my cheek.

“How is Mum? How is she doing?” I ask.

I can’t imagine how awful it must be for her. And here I am, naked after a night of stupid, meaningless sex when I should be there, with my family.

“Your Mum is upset, but she’s holding it together. She’s strong. That’s where you get it from.”

I sniff back the tears as my Dad continues.

“Just before she died, your Grandma quietly whispered that she was ready to go to heaven. She wasn’t in any pain at the end so don’t worry about that. She just closed her eyes and slipped away peacefully.”

“And how are you? How are you Dad?”

It must be so hard for him too. He got on really well with his mother-in-law, and now he has to be there to support his wife whilst he deals with his own grief.

“I’m doing alright,” he says. “The thing that upset me the most was the last thing that your Mum said to her before she died. She took hold of your Grandma’s hand and said ‘You have been so brave.’ Your Grandma passed away only a few seconds after.”

“Oh Dad!” I say.

That’s all I can say. I can tell that my Dad is as upset as I am.

“I’ll come straight home,” I say to him, whilst realising that might be slightly more difficult a task than I really want it to be.

“OK love. No rush though.”

Even now my Dad doesn’t want to feel like he is imposing.

“I’ll be round as soon as I can,” I reiterate.

“OK love,” he replies. “I’ve got to get back to your Mother now. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, see you soon. Bye Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too flower,” he replies, and then hangs up.

With the phone still in my hand and the duvet tightly wrapped around me, I just sit there and stare at the blank wall in front of me.

I feel so upset and guilty as I didn’t go and see my Grandma again before she died. My Dad said it was best not to visit her again. During the past couple of days she had been slipping in and out of consciousness and it would have been very upsetting to see her. I was going to ignore him and go and visit her again anyway, but now I can’t and I feel terrible.

I also feel so exposed. I am in a strange man’s bed, not exactly sure where I am, and I am naked.

I need to get back to my friend Nicola’s house as soon as possible so I can get changed, pick up my car and get to my parent’s house.

I hear the sound of someone bumping up the stairs, then the bedroom door opens and Craig walks in smiling and carrying a steaming cup of tea for me. I smile at him weakly as he places the mug on the bedside table, before taking off his T-shirt and getting back into bed.

I know he has to leave for work so he is probably relieved that I want to head off.

“My Dad’s just called me. My Grandma died this morning and I need to go home”.

Craig’s face softens as he registers what I have said.

I don’t know why, but I feel so lost.

“Can you just hold me please?” I ask.

Craig looks like he is in shock too, but he duly obliges and opens his arms. We lie down in silence, and he snuggles up behind me and holds me for a few minutes. It is a very strange experience. If I was with a boyfriend then it would have felt comforting and intimate, but with Craig, a man I hardly know it just feels so wrong and out of place. How can I be consoled by a man who I have only just met?

I don’t want to be here anymore.

I feel Craig starting to get restless behind me so I turn around to face him.

“Would you be able to give me a lift back to my friend’s house please?” I ask him quietly. “I need to pick up my car so I can go home and be with my parents.”

Craig is still holding me in his strong arms.

“Of course,” he replies. “Give me two minutes to get dressed and I can take you.”

I smile at him gratefully and Craig kisses me on the forehead before he climbs out of bed.

I don’t even bother to have a shower. I just want to leave.

I think that Craig understood how I felt. He seemed to make all the right noises at least. In his own sweet way he tried to make me laugh by putting on an oversized pair of paint splattered overalls which were way too big for him and kept falling off. I hurriedly get dressed and then Craig drops me off at Nicola’s in his car. (It was the sporty one on the drive, and he drives me there very fast, partly because I was in such a rush and I think partly to try and impress me. It doesn’t but I am very grateful for the speed).

His car pulls up outside Nicola’s house.

"Are you OK?" Craig asks gently. "I mean, will you be OK?"

"Yeah. Yeah I think so," I reply.

I just want to get home and see my Mum and Dad.

“So, do you fancy meeting up again. You know, when everything’s alright. No rush or anything, but...” Craig asks as he leans forwards in his sporty car seat.

He looks at me earnestly as his voice trails off, and I feel happy that despite everything that’s just happened he seems to like me.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” I reply.

“I’ll call you,” he says, before leaning over to me and kissing me gently on the lips.

As Craig drives away he looks over to me and waves as I wait for Nicola to answer her door. I lift my hand and wave back, and he smiles at me supportively before his car roars up the road.

I only stay at Nicola’s for about ten minutes so I can have a quick wash and get changed, then I drive to my parents as fast as I can. My Mum seemed to be OK and I haven’t seen her cry, but I think she had been for a bit before I arrived.

All this has put my shenanigans with Craig to the back of my mind as my family is definitely the most important thing right now. It’s at times like these that I wish I had someone waiting at home who would wrap me up in big strong arms and look after me.

Sunday, 21 February 2010

The morning after our first date sex-a-thon, Craig’s alarm goes off at 8:00am. Sadly, he has to get up and check on his team of painters and decorators in the absence of his holidaying Dad. I always wake up early when I’ve been drinking and partly because of this and partly because of the strange location I’d already been awake since 7:00am.

Craig stretches, then rolls over and turns to face me.

“Good morning,” he says, half-heartedly rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning,” I reply.

I can tell that things are slightly different now. Of course they are bound to be, as we are both now sober(ish) and are lying in bed together with the cold light of day streaming in through the curtains.

In the harsh morning light there is no attempt to cuddle and I feel a bit awkward. Craig starts to mess with his phone as he has a few missed calls from the blokes on site. This doesn’t bother me too much at first, but after his phone rings for the fifth time I politely ask him if he wouldn’t mind putting it on silent mode. I understand that he has to go to work, but manners are manners and he still has a naked woman in his bed to deal with first.

I am conscious of my morning breath, and I’m sure that the Alsatians downstairs had sweeter breath than me after a night out. Therefore, before Craig had woken up I nipped into the en-suite and rubbed toothpaste on my teeth with my finger to try and freshen it up. I don’t think it really worked as my mouth still tasted like I’d been sucking on a turd, but this didn’t seem to matter to Craig as we kiss for the first time when sober.

The kiss is nice, slightly awkward, but nice. Our bodies move closer together and as Craig pulls me towards him I let myself relax. We start to touch each other again, and after a few minutes of kissing and groping we start to have sex. Without alcohol coursing around our veins, it isn’t quite up to the levels of passion from the night before. I know I am not looking as good as before we went to bed (despite my best efforts to freshen up with the bits of makeup I’d stashed in my bag), and we end up having face over the shoulder sex:

In the missionary position, with my face over his right shoulder and his over mine.

We don’t look each other in the eye.

He comes.

He climbs off.

He gets up to make me a cup of tea.

Now that was the first time experience I'd been expecting.

Samantha Jones eat your heart out. I did it. Or more accurately, we did it.

The first time it was drunk and great. The second time it was sober and a bit shit. But I don’t care, as I had a brilliant night, some pretty good sex and all with a younger, good looking man who I wouldn’t mind seeing again for an action replay.

I am proud of myself that I didn’t freak out when it came to being naked and I must be OK at sex still as I made him come twice. Hurrah for me.

As I lie in bed pondering this, I can hear Craig talking to his brother downstairs and banging around in the kitchen. I pull the duvet up around my chin and am about to doze off to sleep again when my phone starts to ring.

That’s odd. Who on earth is calling me this early on a Sunday morning?

I reach out to the bedside table and pull my phone out of my bag. I check the caller display.

Thursday, 18 February 2010

I can’t actually believe I suggested that Craig and I go back to his place. On our first date. I know I said I wanted to be all Samantha Jones-like about the whole thing, but at that moment I felt surprisingly calm and confident. It was weird.

Craig tells the taxi driver his address and takes hold of my hand. I wonder if he's nervous too, or if since his recent break up he takes girls home for sex pretty regularly?
(Thinking about it now I doubt it to be honest. He lives with his parents and if they’re anything like mine, as lovely as they are, their presence in the house is such a passion killer).

The taxi pulls up outside his house a few minutes later. As I climb out, Craig pays the taxi driver which gives me time to take it all in.

The house is pretty big, I think it is detached and it is on a newish estate. I see Craig's white van (that he crashed) and its gaffer-taped wing mirror and smirk to myself, and then catch sight of a sporty looking car which I assume to be Craig’s. I hear the taxi drive off, and feel Craig wrap his arms around me from behind before he kisses me gently on the neck.

“So here we are then,” he says, then takes me by the hand and leads me through the door at the side of the house.

We walk into the brand new kitchen which is all gleaming white surfaces and shiny chrome fixtures and fittings. Before I have chance to take off my coat I am promptly attacked by his two dogs, both old Alsatians who seem desperate to lick me to death. Craig finds this endlessly amusing.

“I think they like you,” he laughs.

Great. I'm going to stink of Alsation and dog hairs are so not sexy.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” Craig asks politely.

“Just some water please,” I reply.

I’m already feeling nicely tipsy and I don't want to tip myself over the edge.

We stay chatting in the kitchen for a while. His dogs attempt to shed all their fur on me whilst Craig busies himself by making sure the house is securely locked up.

I can tell that Craig is nervous now as he is jabbering away for England and seems to be a lot more on edge than earlier in the night. After about ten minutes of fending off the dogs and making nervous conversation, I figure that if I don’t make a move then we will be standing in the kitchen all night. As he finishes his drink, I touch him on the arm and gently say,

“Let’s go upstairs”.

Craig looks at me and pauses before he replies.

“Yeah, OK. Let’s go upstairs.”

Here we go.

I follow Craig up the staircase and he leads me into his bedroom. It is quite a big room and facing the entrance there is another door to an en-suite bathroom. Wow, I am impressed. At least this means I won’t bump into his brother during a mad dash to the loo at 4am. The room is very plain: magnolia walls, white bedding and not a lot in the line of “things”. The only exceptions are a TV on a chest of drawers facing the bed, and a picture of Craig driving a Ferrari which was taken on a track day. I did think this was slightly odd, but then again Craig hasn’t been living back here for very long and he said that he’d recently swapped rooms with his parents. Fair enough, the décor is the least of my concerns right now.

I put my bag down on the bedside table, then turn and move towards Craig who is standing awkwardly at the end of the bed. We start to kiss, and then start to kiss really passionately. He takes off his jumper and I feel his toned body through his shirt underneath. God he has a great body. We rip each other’s clothes off, hands touching everywhere, desperate to feel each other. It feels like how sex looks in the movies. It is so passionate, and so different to the calm and collected removal of clothes before-slipping-under-the-duvet preamble to sex that I experienced with my ex-boyfriend. Craig has a fantastic body. He isn’t too muscular, but he is really toned. His arms are strong and his chest is smooth and sexy and I am really turned on.

We have sex that lasts almost an hour, in different positions, fast and slow. I thought I would be bothered about another man seeing me naked, but as it turns out I didn’t even give it a second thought. I am so wrapped up in the passion and feel so sexy that the fact that another man is staring at my tits doesn’t even enter my head.

As first time sex goes, wasn’t bad. It wasn’t too bad at all. It's true what they say: tradesmen are very handy. Craig did a slightly weird thing where he closed his eyes occasionally, but I’m hoping this is because he was in sheer ecstasy and not because he was imagining shagging someone else. For me it was good, and I was pleasantly surprised that Craig ventured down south on me too, although bless him, it didn’t really do that much for me. When we’d finished, Craig put his arms around me, and when I didn’t think it could get any better, it did.

He spooned me.

I wasn’t expecting a display of closeness like this, but it was nice.

“Wow,” Craig says as we lie there together. “Thanks for a great night.” And with that, he kisses me on my cheek and nuzzles his face into the back of my neck.

Tuesday, 16 February 2010

I feel surprisingly nervous as I get changed for my first date with Craig in Nicola’s spare room. In an effort to stop my entire body from shaking I down a couple of shots of sambuca to calm myself down before my taxi arrives. Hmm, not sensible.

I can’t believe I feel so petrified. I’ve dated before, so why am I so worried? On the advice of my friends I’ve decided to wear a sexy semi-sheer black shirt, indigo skinny jeans and heels. I think it’s an outfit that isn’t overtly “Come and get me” but ticks the all the right boxes: it shows off my legs and the little cleavage that I have without being too revealing. Well, that is the plan anyway.

My taxi into town arrives ten minutes early, which is annoying as of course it means that I end up arriving in town ten minutes before I should. I don’t want to be the first one there and have to stand outside waiting like a total loser, so instead I wait around the corner and busy myself by calling my Mum.

Yes, that’s right. I’m about to go on a date with a man who I fully intend on shagging in less than six hours time, and there I am making small talk with my Mum. With everything that is going on with my Grandma's illness, the comedy value that is my love life is the only thing that seems to cheer my Mum up at the moment. She is so excited about my first proper date since my ex, especially as she never liked him. At all. If only I had listened to her back then.

Whilst I’m chatting away to my Mum I see the figure of a man who I vaguely recognise walking towards me. Happily, the flashback snapshot images that I captured of Craig in my mind finally click into focus. It’s him, it’s definitely him. And he is very, very sexy.

I have to get rid of my Mum immediately. She is still babbling on at the other end of the phone, bless her.

I am so relieved, as he is not only good looking, he isn’t ginger and he does bear a passing resemblance to sexy rugby playing God Brian O’Driscoll.

Result.

“Only by a minute,” I reply casually. “For once my taxi arrived early.”

“Shall we go inside?” he suggests, to which I smile and follow him around to the bar’s entrance.

In the sober light of early evening Craig is looking good, and I mentally pat myself on the back for an excellent effort. Craig’s shoulders are broad and his arms look great under his jumper. In fact, come to mention it I think he is wearing the same outfit as he did on the night we met.

I’m sure he’s washed it in the meantime though. I hope.

Either way, he is pretty God damn sexy.

As it is quite early we manage to grab ourselves a table, which I am pleased about as I don’t know how long I would be able to stand up in my towering heels. Being a gentleman Craig insists on buying all my drinks but I refuse, as fair’s fair, and after all I plan on using and abusing him later. We chat really easily on a whole load of topics, from the usual suspects of sport and films to where we wanted to travel to and about ourselves in general.

“You know, I don’t actually come out to Preston very often,” Craig says as we sip our third drinks of the evening. “When we met I was out celebrating my birthday.”

“Oh really?” I reply, sounding surprised.

Shit. Did he tell me it was his birthday the other weekend? I was so drunk I can’t remember anything.

“I’m sure I told you that the other Saturday?” he says.

Bollocks.

Craig shrugs.

“Maybe not. After all, I don’t think we actually talked that much,” he continues, with a cheeky smile playing across his lips.

I smile, and find myself batting my eyelashes at him as I look away coyly. What the hell am I doing? Fluttering my eyelashes?

“You really made my night,” he continues.

Well that’s it. Now you’ve just made me blush.

He’s either being a bit of a sweetie or he is a total charmer, and right then I couldn’t decide which one it was.

Craig then goes on to reveal that he managed (more successfully than my friend Nicola) to take a sneaky photo of me.

“Here it is!” he laughs, as he hands his phone over to me so I can take a look.

It is absolutely horrendous. And I mean awful. I am drunk, my hair is all over the place and I look like I’m singing. Badly.

“Oh my God, that is so embarrassingly awful,” I say to him. “Please delete it!”

Craig just sits and laughs as I squirm. But it is as nice laugh. He’s not laughing at me, he’s laughing with me. (I think).

“I can’t believe you actually wanted to see me again if you thought I looked like that!” I cringe.“Please delete it!”

I’m practically begging him. This is so embarrassing. I’ve seen zombies in low budget horror films that look better than I do in that hideous photograph.

It is all very good humoured banter and we are getting on great, especially when Craig finally stops teasing me and deletes the photo.

Through our conversation I find out that even though he’s only twenty five, Craig is six months out of a nine year relationship. Blimey, he’s got staying power. He tells me how he had been with his ex since school and they had been living together, however when they split up he moved back in with his parents just until he can get himself back on his feet. I don’t think that’s too bad and it all sounds very sensible, but I have to stop myself from considering his long term potential again, especially now I know he’s not scared of commitment.

Especially on a first date for Christ’s sake.

The night continues and we move from bar to bar, still having a good time, still getting progressively more tipsy. As the drinks and conversation flow, I decide that I really do quite like Craig. He really is rather sexy. By the time we reach bar number three we are holding hands, and in bar number four we start kissing each other like horny teenagers. At about 1:30am we head off to a club for a bit of a dance, but it is pretty quiet inside so the decision is made to call it a night and head off.

As we walk hand in hand towards the taxi rank, nothing is said about where we were going and we just carry on chatting away about random stuff. I definitely want to go back to his place and I desperately want to rip his clothes off and see him naked. Through his top, his body and arms feel amazing, but I want to feel them skin on skin.

There are a few taxis lined up as it hasn’t reached kicking out time at the clubs yet, so we jump into the first one in the queue and it drives off.

The taxi driver turns his head to look at Craig. “Where to mate?” he asks.

Craig looks at me, and I look back at him expectantly. So here it is: decision time.

Craig has the house to himself this weekend.
(Well, if you don't count his younger brother).

I know I’ve got my friend Nicola’s spare bed reserved for the night, but I’m kind of hoping that we end up back at his place...

I never thought I’d hear myself saying that, but I’m determined not to get freaked out by the whole sex thing this time around, and I'm seeing Craig as just a bit of fun. My "back in the saddle" guy, if you know what I mean.

The last time I was single after splitting up with my long term boyfriend, aka The Evil Cockbag, I was pretty much petrified of the thought of any other bloke seeing me naked. I suppose that's what happens when you've been with someone for nearly four years. Well, that's what happened with me anyway.

I know it’s officially our first date, but I'm not ruling anything out. If it happens, it happens and I won't make myself feel bad about it.

Wednesday, 10 February 2010

There’s not much going on in my uninspiring hotel tonight so I’ve been lying on my bed and absent mindedly channel hopping through the paltry selection of TV on offer. So far there isn’t much that grabs my attention and they don’t even have Sky Sports. In a word: crap.

I ended up settling on a documentary about the life of giant anteaters on an obscure channel. Not exactly my bag, but it was preferable to a snoretastic programme about cowboy builders or John Nettles solving yet another grisly murder in the sleepy village of Midsomer. I was starting to consider a spot of bean flicking to pass the time, when my phone skipped along the bedside table as it vibrated to life.

It was a message from Craig.

So did u get lost runnin again 2nite? Haha! Do u fancy meetin 4 a drink on Sat if ur not doin anythin? X

See what I mean about his grammar?

But that aside, he has just asked me out ON A DATE! Eek!

As it happens I’ve not got anything planned this weekend apart from visiting my poorly Grandma again, so I sent him the following reply:

I’m visiting my family on Sunday but other than that have no plans. I’d love to go out for a few drinks ;-) x

Then, about half a minute after sending that message my phone rings. I look at the caller display and my heart leaps into my mouth.

It is Craig.

Gulp.

I answer my phone.

“Hello,” I say cautiously.

“Hi,” says the male voice at the other end of the line. “I just thought I’d give you a quick call to see how you’re doing.”

His voice is warm, with the thick Lancastrian accent that I love.

“Oh I’m good thanks. Just a bit bored in this hotel room all on my own!” I reply.

Believe it or not, this is me flirting. Craig had already expressed his wish to ‘keep me amused’ in my lonely hotel room after I sent him a saucy photo of me just wearing a bra the other night. He’s not so brazen on the phone though.

“Oh well, you’ll be out of there soon,” he replies.

Oh well, I tried.

We make small talk for about ten minutes, and I manage to hold myself together to have a semi-normal, semi-giggly-with-nerves conversation with him. I think it took some guts on his part to call me, as so far teenage text messages have been the only method of communication. The conversation flows easily enough and he actually sounds really, really nice.

I can sense that the conversation is coming to an end, but before it does, the real reason for his call becomes apparent.

“So, this Saturday night...” Craig ventures, “are you OK to come over to Preston again? I know it’s a pain, but my parents are away and I’ve got to work on Sunday morning and check up on all the sites.”

“Oh that’s fine,” I reply. “I was coming over on Sunday anyway so I’ll just come over on Saturday instead.”

“Oh great!” Craig replies. “I really want to see you but I was worried that coming over here again would be a pain.”

Bless him, but does he not read his text messages? I’d already told him about my trip back home. One black mark for lack of attentiveness.

“Yeah, it will be good to see you too,” I reply.

I don’t have the heart to mention the fact that I have no idea what he looks like.

“So, where shall we meet then?” he asks. “It might be best if you pick,” he continues, “as I don’t really go into Preston that much.”

Ah, that old chestnut: the bloke ‘thoughtfully’ letting the woman pick the venue.

“Oh, er. I don’t know.” I say.

I haven’t lived in Preston for years, so how am I supposed to know where’s cool and where’s crap? The only places I know are all the dodgy places I used to go about ten years ago.

“Er, how about Revolution bar?” I suggest.

It’s a safe bet I think, as it is tucked away on a side street but is still busy enough without being too packed.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Craig replies. “Shall we meet there at 8?”

“Yes, 8 o’clock is fine,” I reply. “So I’ll see you then!”

“Yep, see you then!” he replies.

“Right then.” I say.

I want to say something suggestive or flirty, but somehow I just can’t manage it.

“See you Saturday.” Craig replies. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight.” I reply, before I end the call.

Phew.

That was surprisingly easy.

I’m pleased that Craig and I have spoken to each other before we meet up, as it has put some of my fears to rest. He sounds really down to earth on the phone. A little bit shy and nervous maybe, but in a direct contrast to his text messages he is eloquent and well spoken, and sounds very, very sexy.

I just hope that I recognise him when I see him. I’m sure that some part of my subconscious mind will remember him and be able to pick him out in a crowded bar. I hope so, as otherwise this might well be the shortest date of my life.

Tuesday, 9 February 2010

Work has sent me away on a course for this week and I am staying at the exhilarating location that is London Heathrow airport. Yes, that’s right - I’m stuck in a hotel full of sweaty businessmen and Air Asia flight attendants: a lecherous mix of sexually frustrated testosterone and high pitched girlie giggles. Lord, get me out of here.

With the course finishing late in the evening and with only the meagre delights of the shops in Terminal 1 to amuse me, I am bored. So very, very, bored. The hotel doesn’t even have a gym, so last night I decided to go for a run around the airport perimeter instead. Never again, as despite the whacking great landmark of landing planes and twinkling runway lights, I still managed to get myself lost and nearly ended up getting bummed in a dodgy looking housing estate. Still, it was great exercise as I’ve never run so fast before in my life.

The only thing that is keeping me entertained is the daily textathon between me and Craig. During our daily text marathons I’ve found a few other interesting things out about him:

• He goes to the gym at least three times a week. This is good, as hopefully he’ll have a fit bod under his overalls.

• He drives a white van. This amuses me no end, especially as he had a crash in it yesterday morning. He wasn’t hurt (and fortunately nobody else was either) as he reversed into a wall and destroyed his wing mirror. He’s now desperately trying to get it fixed before his Dad gets back from his holiday...

• He has one younger brother who also works for the family business.

• He isn’t on Facebook as he claims not to know how to switch a computer on.
(Damn, so no potential stalking/vetting opportunities there).

• His favourite sort of music is pop/R’n’B. Hmm...

• He’s really looking forward to seeing me again. :-)

As well as finding more out about each other, our texts have been getting much flirtier over the past couple of days.

Oh, and whilst I was bored in my crappy hotel room last night I sent him a picture of me in one of my sexy lacy bras.

I know, I know, it’s unashamedly slutty, but in the past couple of days I’ve realised that I was starting to get ahead of myself in what I hope might happen with Craig. One of my friends recently described me as a serial monogamist, and as much as I don’t like the label it’s true. I’m terrible at being single and I always look for something more.

Therefore, I’m trying my best to ignore all the thoughts I’m having about Craig potentially being a good boyfriend, and instead I’m embracing my inner Samantha Jones and remembering what I wanted to achieve from my first spell of singledom: to have fun and to get laid.

Sunday, 7 February 2010

Craig and I have been flirting quite a bit over the past week, and in true teenager style it's all been done via text messages. Oh yes, romance is well and truly alive. Well, as long as it's within 160 characters. Craig is definitely putting a big fat smile on my face, and a bit of gentle flirting is just what I need.

However...

I can’t help but be put off by the way he writes his messages.

Argh. Please don't hate me for saying this.

Craig’s use of spelling and grammar (or, the lack of it) does worry me slightly. I wouldn’t go as far as saying that I’m a grammar nazi, but I just don't understand why ppl feel da nd 2 tlk in txt spk. Am I being too picky? Maybe it’s because he’s a bit younger than me? Or maybe the English language was never his strong point?

I've discovered that Craig works with his Dad in the family painting a decorating business, and from the casual Google stalking I’ve done today it looks to be very successful business too. Maybe this means he didn’t try too hard at school? I almost feel a bit shallow in being put off by grammatical errors, especially as Craig is only meant to be a bit of fun. I thought that kissing him on a night out would be the start and the end of our little liaison, but as we're now starting to get to know each other I fear that I'm looking into things too much and I’m skipping along ten steps at a time. I’ve got to calm down. We are only texting each other and this is only a bit of fun....

Friday, 5 February 2010

If you're not aware of this feast of rugby, basically England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, France and Italy battle it out for six weeks to be crowned rugby kings of the northern hemisphere. Oh and it is packed with hot, handsome rugby men.

Therefore, to celebrate the Six Nations (and maybe to encourage some of you to give it a watch), I have handpicked a sexy selection of players.

1. England: Jonny Wilkinson

So lovely. The boyish good looks, the healthy tan, the sandy blonde hair. I've been a little bit in love with Jonny for about ten years now.

2. Wales: Jamie Roberts

Wales' scorching centre. He can tackle me any day, and as he's training to be a doctor he can kiss me better when we play doctors and nurses afterwards.

3. Scotland: Thom Evans

If you like Thom then check him out in the Dieux Du Stade calendar. Basically it's a calendar packed full of naked rugby players. It's top class lady-porn art.

4. France: Frederik Michelak

Bonjour...

5. Italy: I couldn't just pick one player.

Check out the Dolce and Gabbana campaign featuring several Italian rugby stars:

Thursday, 4 February 2010

It's just another tedious Thursday at work, except this Thursday I have a little secret that no one at work knows about. I do feel a little bit ridiculous as it’s almost like I’m acting like a schoolgirl with an overwhelming crush.

Craig and I are sending each other loads of text messages, and my phone is pinging with a new message every few minutes. He is really sweet, and is asking me loads of questions about how my day’s going, what sort of films and music I like and just general chit chat. It’s ace and I’m loving all the attention, especially as work is pretty dull at the moment. I love how I feel when my heart leaps every time I receive another message from him. I’ve not felt this way for such a long time.

It's just annoying that all my work mates have noticed...

“So what are all these messages you keep receiving?” my colleague Mick asks after my phone beeps for the fifteenth time in an hour. “Are you running some sort of sordid chat line or something? ‘Text 07790 FLIRT to receive smutty messages from horny girls in your area,’” he says laughing.

“No,” I reply whilst trying to hide my blushing cheeks.

“So who is it then?” Mick persists. “Did you meet some hot young stud last weekend? You did, didn’t you!” he announces loudly.

“Well, er, I met someone, yes,” I reply quietly.

“Ooh! Spill!” Mick demands as he wheels his chair over to my desk.

“Well, it’s just a guy I met. He seems nice,” I reply. “He’s a painter and decorator.”

“How old?” Mick quizzes.

“Twenty five,” I reply.

“Ah so he is a hot young stud!” Mick says with relish.

I feel my cheeks burning red whilst Mick demands that I furnish him with all the details.

“So are you going to see him again,” he asks, idly flicking paperclips across my desk.

“Er, maybe.” I reply. “Well, I think so...”

My voice trails off as I see my team leader’s ears have pricked up and he is spinning round in his chair to face me.

“What’s this?” my team leader asks across the office. “Have you been knocking about with a tradesman?”

“Yes. Yes she has,” Mick replies in a voice so loud that the entire office can hear.

Oh please leave me alone the pair of you.

I sink lower into my seat in an effort to deflect the attention, but it completely fails and I end up having to repeat all the salacious details of my sambuca-fuelled rendezvous to my team leader. He absolutely thrives on gossip, especially when it involves sexy young men. Well, he is the only gay man in the office.

“Well then, you’ll have to let me know how it all goes with your new man,” my team leader states once I’ve finished recounting my story. “I think from now on I’m going to refer to him as ‘Trade’,” he says with a pompous tone.

Monday, 1 February 2010

When I say I remember Craig (the man who I met on Saturday night) I do. Sort of. It's all very hazy though. Very hazy.

I’m not even sure how I ended up talking to Craig let alone how I ended up snogging him. Yes, that's right, I kissed a boy on Saturday night. Well, a man. The reason why I don't remember the finer details of our bout of tonsil-hockey is because I was far too busy being an advertisement for the dangers of binge drinking. Oh yes, I am a classy girl. If I'm being totally honest, I don’t even remember much of what Craig and I talked about. In fact, my first memory of him is when Nicola came up to us on the dance floor mid-snog, tapped me on the shoulder and asked:

“Are you OK mate?”

Er, yeah. I think?

This is terrible but even if I really concentrate now I can’t really remember what he looks like. He definitely has short hair, I know that much. I think it was blonde or sandy. I’m pretty convinced that Craig is taller than me and had some quite good muscles going on under his sleeves. This must be true, as even the drunk me wouldn’t forget a detail as important as that. I’ve half convinced myself that he looks a bit like Brian O’Driscoll who captains the Ireland rugby union team, which is not a bad thing if it’s true. Not a bad thing at all.

What I do know is that we swapped numbers at some point during our dance floor snogathon, as at 10am on Sunday morning I was woken from my pool of drool on the couch by my phone pinging with an incoming text message:

Craig:

Good morning and how’s you today?

Blimey 10am? I was really pleased to hear from him and I must still have something going for me after all, but at 10am after a night out I am barely alive. I can’t drink like I used to. Well, I can drink like I used to, but now it takes me a couple of days to recover from the alcohol abuse as opposed to a couple of hours’ worth of drunken sleep.

Craig and I have been playing text message ping pong during the past couple of days, and he even asked me if we could meet up on Sunday morning before I went back home. Er NO! Not the way I looked! The vamped up sexy look I was working on Saturday night was replaced the morning after with a washed out version of Marilyn Manson, complete with darkened bags under my bleary eyes which resembled two piss holes in the snow. Attractive is not the word. It was sweet of him to ask though.

However...

I replied to his message and said that sadly I wouldn’t have time to meet up, but that it would be good to go out for a drink the next time I go over to Preston… to which he said definitely yes! Whether that will ever happen I have no idea (I very much doubt it) but I will see.

As a result of our text conversation yesterday and today I’ve found out quite a few things about him:

1. He is called Craig.

2. He works with his Dad for the family painting and decorating business.

3. He is twenty-five.

4. He supports Preston North End football team.

5. He doesn’t like rugby (boo).

6. He loves motor sport (zzzzz).

And that’s about it. I’ve been wracking my brains and been trying to force myself to remember what he looks like, but all I get is the occasional glimpse of his face like in a snapshot. My friend Nicola tried to take some photos of him for me, but the flash didn’t go off in the first one and in the second all I can see is the back of his head. The only thing I can determine from this is that he’s not going bald, and he was wearing a charcoal grey jumper with a shirt underneath and some jeans. Which looks good from behind.

Still, I’m glad that I’ve got my first kiss as a single girl out of the way though but I just wish I could remember more about it. I know that looks wise I’ve got the thumbs up for Craig from Nicola, but knowing how kissing men whilst drunk has worked out for me before I’m not holding a great amount of hope that Craig is any better than any of them.

About Me

Newly single and rapidly approaching my thirtieth birthday, I’ve realised that I need a new game plan in order to find the drop dead gorgeous, rugby-playing boyfriend that I’ve been lusting after for years. Or at the very least: a man just like him...